


Party of Four

by chroniclackofselfpreservation



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alice in Wonderland but a little to the left, DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD THOSE ARE TO WRITE???, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insanity, Inspired by Alice in Wonderland, Madness, and rhymes and riddles i literally thought i was going to die, patton's the dormouse guys it's adorable, so much wordplay, sure it could go longer but i only have the headspace for a oneshot right now, yes it's going to be that au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chroniclackofselfpreservation/pseuds/chroniclackofselfpreservation
Summary: Anyone order Sanders Sides Alice in Wonderland AU but just a little to the left?Or, Roman Atwood stumbles upon a rather unusual gathering of characters while traversing this strange new land.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Party of Four

Roman was _not_ having a very good day. If he’d had to list the worst days of his life, this one would definitely make the top five. As if being proposed to by some pompous duchess he barely knew in front of a crowd of people wasn’t bad enough, he’d had to go off chasing a stupid rabbit down some impossibly long hole in the ground and wind up in this acid trip hallucination of fairyland—not that he was familiar with acid trips by any means.

He’d been bullied by some flowers with questionable fashion sense, turned around in circles by two identical little men with mustaches and morning-stars, and mocked by a floating cat with a forked tongue and a wicked smile—something he was sure he’d never be able to unsee. Now, he was completely lost in a forest he’d never seen before, in clothes that were not his own. Roman was ready to go home. He’d never admit it, but he could feel fiery hot tears of frustration pricking in the corners of his eyes. 

A tinkling sort of chiming rang through the forest, and Roman stopped. It sounded like someone tapping a spoon against a champagne glass. The tapping suddenly hastened its tempo and was swiftly followed by the sound of shattering china. Shrieks of what could have easily been either laughter or screaming echoed through the hills, sending a chill down Roman’s spine. He wasn’t sure what sort of creature had made the sound, but he was ready for something to happen aside from this fruitless wandering. 

Tromping around the bend—in boots that were irritatingly too big for his feet—Roman came upon yet another strange sight. A long dining table stood lopsided on the mushy, uneven forest floor, lined by the most colorfully dreadful arrangement of chairs Roman had ever seen. One looked like something someone would have on their patio, and the next was a wooden armchair with upholstery that looked horribly similar to Roman’s aunt’s couch. Another was a five-legged stool. Another: a mid-century modern sort of seat with four legs sticking out the bottom like a baby giraffe learning to walk. 

Two figures sat at the table. The one on the left had slouched the upper half of his body across the table, his chest stuttering and shoulders quaking in silent laughter. He pounded a fist against the table and inhaled ravenously before breaking out into more hysterics. 

Roman winced. 

The other figure sat at the head of the table, looking ridiculously proper and put together given the circumstances he found himself in. His suit was a deep navy velvet, his top hat smooth—the ribbon around the base securing pocketbooks, cardstock, and pens against the stock of the hat—and his posture impeccable. His mouth moved quickly, as if her were talking to someone, but Roman was too far to make out what he said. 

The velvet man looked perfect, and Roman _hated_ perfect people.

Steeling himself, Roman strode up to the table with all the purpose and determination he could muster, hoping to mask his desperation. After being in such an odd place for over a day, he’d learned that simply acting like you knew what was going on got you much further than asking a million questions. 

Approaching, he pulled out the chair at the other end of the table, plopped down, and clasped his hands in his lap, waiting. 

Through the other man’s frankly painful-sounding laughter, he heard the suited man ramble, “Two doors lie before you, one relaying falsehood, the other only truth. To decide how to proceed one must ask one question to determine which is which.” 

_“Liars are the bane of all, but when the pretty music calls, a lyre shall fall upon the ears of all who came to see and hear!”_ a third, unseen voice sang. It sounded to have come from the teapot. 

Roman squinted. “Who said that?”

The velvet man’s eyes snapped to Roman. “One question. How do you proceed? Proceed… Cede: to yield or formally surrender to another. The Treaty of Nanking in 1824 ceded Hong Kong to the British.”

“Yes…” Roman replied. “I’m sure it did.”

The man on the left grew terribly still, his laughter fading away. He drew himself up in his chair like a puppet held by fraying strings. His face was sullen, streaked with what Roman could only guess was ink, though it leaked from his eyes like tears. Two long, raggedy ears sprouted from his head, but it took Roman a moment to figure out what they were. They were rabbit ears. Brindle-colored, patchy, and weathered, they looked like they belonged to some long-forgotten rag doll a child had left beneath their bed. 

He wiped his face, smearing the black underneath his eyes, and reached across the table with trembling, ink-stained fingers. He grasped for the teapot, and the lid popped off. A sky-blue dormouse peeked out. 

“Did you like my song, Hare?” it asked cheerily. The inky man gave a short nod, his arms retreating back and fidgeting endlessly with his ears. No wonder they were so worn. 

“Were you the one singing?” Roman asked, hoping to at least spark _some_ sort of coherent conversation with one of them. 

“Oh, yes! I’m Mouse, and I can sing anything you like!” he chirped, looking particularly adorable. “Did you notice the pun?”

“Liars and lyres,” Hare blurted through his fingers, snorting. “Lying liars laying with lyres!” He shrieked with laughter, tears dark as pitch once more lining his face. 

“You’ve set him off again,” the velvet man muttered. “Off, off, off we go.”

“Off with his head, more like!” Mouse cheered, falling back into the pot, his tiny voice echoing. 

Hare hiccupped out of his laughing fit, eyes going wild at Mouse’s words, letting out a single, strangled sob and biting his ears. 

Roman groaned, running his hands down his face. He wasn’t getting anywhere with these lunatics. “I need to find the Red Queen,” he said, propping his elbows on the edge of the table—something his aunt would have scolded him about for who-knows-how-long. Hare pulled his ears over his eyes, choking into hysterical giggling and crying. The ink was getting everywhere. 

The velvet man raised an eyebrow. “Only in seeking is the path found, but seeking the sought when secrets abound leaves nothing but sanity’s seams in the ground.”

“I ought to put a tune to that,” Mouse mused, popping his cerulean head out of the teapot once more. 

“Do you know what he’s saying?” Roman asked the rodent helplessly. 

“Not in the slightest,” he replied giddily, squirming out of the pot and scampering over to the sugar bowl. 

“No! No, no, no, no…” Hare fretted, grimacing. He reached over and gently blocked Mouse’s path with a black-smudged hand. 

“What’s this, Hare? Just a little sugar! I won’t spill again.”

Roman threw his hands in the air. “The Red Queen? Anyone?”

 _“Stop_ it,” Hare hissed through his teeth, chest spasming. 

“Come now, Hare,” the velvet man said, stirring his tea. Roman perked up. He continued, not looking up from his cup. “Hare and Hatter had harrowing happenings with that hateful harlot. Hacked Hare’s head into heaps of hogwash, and Hatter’s into handfuls of hell.”

 _“She_ did this to you?”

“Affirmative.” He tapped his spoon lightly on the edge, ridding it of excess tea, then set it down and sipped. Roman sat back, digesting what he’d just learned. He needed to get back home, and the serpentine cat had told him the only way he’d be able to do that was by talking to the Red Queen. however, if these guys were telling the truth, and that lady really _had_ driven them mad…

Maybe he’d have to find another way home.

“I’m trying to get back home. Do any of you know the way back to London?”

“Who’s that?” Mouse peeped, suddenly interested. “Never heard of her. 

“Where,” said the velvet man.

“What?”

“London. Where. Not who. Nor what. Never could stand the place.”

Roman perked up. “You’ve been to London?”

His nose wrinkled. “Too wispy.”

Roman’s hope crumbled. _“Wispy?_ How can a place be wispy?”

“In similar fashion to the way smoke can. Solid ground beneath the feet makes one much more a man.”

“London isn’t smoke, and it isn’t wispy. I bet you’ve never even been there,” Roman said, pointing a finger in the velvet man’s direction. 

He cocked a perfect eyebrow. “That is incorrect.”

“You’re lying.”

Everything stopped. 

Mouse froze where he stood, a single sugar cube held captive above his head. Hare looked as if he didn’t dare breathe. 

The velvet man stood, his eyes unblinking and ferocious. Roman sank down in his chair. 

“Roman Atwood of seventeen lives a life of others unseen. Mother lied, and Father died, and Gram committed suicide…”

“Stop,” Roman whimpered, unable to tear his eyes away from the velvet man’s gaze. This was a mistake. A horrible mistake. 

“Loves his dog and loathes his aunt. Wants to get away, but can’t. Loathes his life and loves his friend, who’s pain and suff’ring never end…” 

All the blood drained from Roman’s face. He felt vulnerable. Naked. Like this insane man had thumbed through his mind like a book, stopped on the last dog-eared page, and started reading. The velvet man’s whole frame shook. He pounded a fist on the table, as if the mere act of speaking was pulling the nails from his fingers, and yet a sardonic smile played at his lips. 

“Roman Atwood of Keller’s Lane thinks to himself that he is sane, yet sits at a table with the mentally unstable, having tea with such unsavory three…” 

Mouse retreated into the teapot, abandoning his sugar cube. Hare shook his head and muttered to himself, the occasional squeaky giggle slipping past his blackened fingers. 

The velvet man’s voice lowered to a rumbling growl. “Thinks himself some hero from stories often told, but when the Red Queen tolls her bell, we’ll all be dead and cold.”

Roman pushed away from the table, shooting to his feet. “And what do you think I should do, then? Huh?!” The tears he’d been holding back for so long finally spilled over. He wiped them away furiously. “I can’t just—just abandon everything! I don’t belong here!”

The man across from him relaxed, smoothing his suit and sitting once again. “Unclear.”

 _“What does that mean?!”_ Roman shouted, grabbing at his hair. “Unclear _what?_ Nothing here makes sense! Why can’t anyone just give me a straight answer?”

“Straight is so boring,” Mouse complained, hopping down out of the teapot. 

Even through his frustration, Roman managed a laugh. “Tell that to my aunt.”

“Answers will come on wings without feather, but one cannot fly whilst bound by a tether,” the velvet man said finally, sipping his tea. “Tether: a line to which someone or something is attached, as for security. Or,” he met Roman’s eye meaningfully, “the limit of one’s strength or resources.”

"I don't under—"

A thunderous _whoosh_ sounded from above them and Roman looked up. His mouth fell open. A man with enormous butterfly wings circled over their heads. Not a second later, the man pitched into a nosedive and landed very dramatically in the middle of the table. 

"You called, Hatter?" he crowed, wings flaring out to full lenght. They were a gorgeous sunset orange, run through with streaks of midnight black—like a monarch butterfly. They seemed to undulate right before Roman's eyes, and he was sure if he reached out, he'd find his eyes playing tricks on him.

"Indeed," the velvet man said, obviously displeased with the man's sudden appearance. "There's—"

"Whatever, I don't care," he laughed waving a hand. He turned and...

Oh. _Oh._ Now _that_ was just unfair. The winged man's hair was orange as a flame and his face was probably the prettiest thing Roman had ever laid eyes on. Sun-tanned skin and the cutest smattering of freckles across his face and shoulders. He also wasn't wearing a shirt, which didn't help Roman keep his blush to himself.

"Koal's got wings now!" Mouse cheered.

The orange-haired man laughed, turning this way and that. "Nice, right? Man, I hated being a caterwaul."

"Caterpillar," Hatter corrected.

"Crittersplitter," Koal countered with a growing grin. "But you gotta admit, Butterknives are _much_ more fun."

_"Butterflies."_

He waved a dismissive hand, nudging Hare with a toe. "And how're you holdin' up, Jumpscare?"

Hare flinched, letting out a bark of laughter.

"Really?" the winged man replied with genuine interest. "Well, I'll have to remind those grimy little twins who's boss around here, won't I?" He glanced over at Roman and froze. "Ooh, hello there," he cooed, leaping forward into a crouch inches from his nose. His wings buffeted Roman's hair back against his forehead. He smelled like pine sap and petrichor. 

“You’re new,” Koal said, then sniffed. “You’re full of it, too.” 

“Full of what?”

“Stupidity. I can see why Hatter called me.” 

“Excuse me?” Roman said, trying to sound offended, but it came out as a squeak. 

“Come on,” he said, standing and holding out his hand. Roman hesitated, and Koal shook it. “Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.”

Roman looked to the velvet man, who gave nothing but one quick, curt nod. Preparing himself for the worst, Roman took the winged man’s hand. 

Koal’s wings beat against the table, knocking nearly everything onto the ground as he lifted Roman up into his arms and took off into the sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> Did y'all like my take on the Orange Side? His name comes from Koalemos, the Greek god of stupidity and ignorance. I tend to subscribe to the theory that the orange side's gonna be Logan's opposite (like Remus is for Roman, and Deceit is for Patton), so I thought the god of stupidity fit just right.   
> This isn't my main project at the moment, so I'm not too sure when the next update will be. Sorry, guys!


End file.
